


Sugar & Spice

by MercyBraavos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Dean Loves Pie, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slash, Smut, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyBraavos/pseuds/MercyBraavos
Summary: It was safe to say that Castiel didn’t know much about the man eyeing him up from across the shop. All he did know is that when Dean showed up, Castiel was fucked – in every possible sense of the word.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bittersweet Symphony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947153) by [MercyBraavos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyBraavos/pseuds/MercyBraavos). 



> This fic was originally a Christmas gift for a friend who was sad about the lack of Cain/Gabriel works - so, I wrote her one! After reading it again it occurred to me that it would also work well as a Destiel AU, so here it is. Enjoy! (If you want to read the original work, there should be an 'inspired by' link around here somewhere.)

The bell on the door jingled merrily.

Castiel looked up from his chopping block where he was thinly slicing two enormous Braeburn apples. Technically, his bakery was by appointment only, but he would always welcome a walk-in customer when he wasn’t completely swamped with orders. Business was business.

However, instead of a customer he was greeted with a familiar face that made him suck in an involuntary gasp. He took in his visitor’s boyish features and gold-flecked green eyes; the carefully styled hair and the adorable yet alluring freckles disappearing into the upturned collar of his chestnut brown leather jacket. The sway of his denim-covered hips as he  _swaggered_  through the door. The curve of his lips as he relaxed his mouth into a teasing smirk.

Castiel brought his knife down, narrowly avoiding the tip of his finger, and took a steadying breath.

_Dean._

After a beat, too long to be considered normal, he arranged his features into a welcoming smile. “Good morning,” he greeted, “what can I do for you today?”

“Now there’s a loaded question,” Dean drawled. “There are just so  _many_  things I’d like you to  _do_  for me.”

Castiel sighed internally, unsure how to proceed. Dean – funny, brilliant, beautiful and  _infuriating_  – liked to flit in and out of Castiel’s otherwise orderly life. The only thing absolutely certain about his visits was Castiel’s complete and utter inability to turn him down.

The week they’d met, Dean had strolled in, ostensibly to welcome him to town – as though Castiel’s shop hadn’t been open for six months– and seduced him with those mischievous eyes and wandering hands. Before Castiel had managed to fully grasp what was going on, he was letting Dean bend him over the counter in broad daylight.

Not that he regretted that particular indiscretion. Dean’s tongue was absolutely magical.

Over the next two years they’d fallen into a pattern. An erratic pattern, but a pattern nonetheless. Dean showed up and Castiel gave in… and on more than one occasion Castiel  _begged_. He’d discovered though, that if he was able to wait long enough, Dean would get to the point and save Castiel the humiliation. In the meantime, he would pretend that his pulse hadn’t quickened, that he wasn’t suddenly and unnaturally warm and that his fingertips didn’t itch to reach out and stroke Dean’s lightly stubbled jaw.

 _Christ_.

He focused on the apples, slicing up the last half and transferring the slices to a bowl where he tossed them with fresh lemon juice. He could feel Dean’s eyes on them as he added the apples to the thick cinnamon sugar mixture simmering on the stove behind him.

He didn’t know where Dean went when he wasn’t in Castiel’s shop or in Castiel’s bed (which was conveniently located in his little flat above the shop.) He never saw him around town, never ran into him at the market, never spoke to anyone who knew who he was. Once, Castiel wondered if he was delusional and Dean was a figment of his imagination. That little bubble had been popped the day his brother showed up early for a lunch date and caught Dean three fingers deep while Castiel shouted mindless obscenities at the ceiling.

Michael had sputtered a shocked apology before disappearing for three days. Castiel tried to be better about locking the door after that.

It was safe to say that Castiel didn’t know much about the man eyeing him up from across the shop. All he did know is that when Dean showed up, Castiel was fucked – in every possible sense of the word.

He was drawn out of his self-inflicted reverie by the obnoxiously loud sound of lips suctioning against glass. “It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?” he admonished, gesturing to the brown glass bottle in Dean’s hand and trying hard not to think about the last time those sinful lips had been wrapped around his dick.

“Give me a little credit,” Dean said, offended, and then winked. “It’s root beer. My blood sugar was low. Want some?” He wiggled the bottle in Castiel’s direction.

Castiel rolled his eyes and adjusted the flame under the apple filling, careful to keep the mixture at a gentle simmer. “No, thank you,” he groused, “I don’t drink after other people.”

Dean scoffed, amused, and finished the drink, dropping the bottle in the trash can near the door. “Because we’ve been so careful about sharing bodily fluids before now?” he asked, his tone low and lascivious.

“Is there something I can do for you, Dean?” Castiel asked, trying to move the disaster of a conversation forward. He grabbed a clean spatula from the utensil rack, scraping the sides of the pot as he poured the filling into a plastic bowl to cool.

“Whatcha making?” Dean asked, moving closer and peering over the counter.

Castiel moved a bit so Dean could watch as he laid the bottom crust into a pie tin, carefully trimming away the extra dough before cutting thin, clean strips for the top lattice.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean retreat slightly. A second later he heard the door lock engage, the loud metallic snapping sound shooting straight to his groin. Castiel had been half hard since Dean walked through the door; a Pavlovian response to the man’s mere presence. Now, he was diamond hard and straining against the button fly of his soft, well-worn jeans.

Using the little coherency that remained to him, he moved the unfinished pie to a safe distance before turning to find Dean sliding into his personal space and crowding him against the counter.

Pressing against him, Dean reached around and dipped his fingers into the cooling pie filling, bringing them to his lips one by one. Castiel watched his tongue slide sensuously over each finger before saying stupidly, “I can’t even tell you how many health codes you’re violating right now.”

Dean laughed aloud at that; a sharp, genuine burst of laughter that warmed Castiel in ways he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Instead, he focused on a glob of filling that was dripping slowly down the back of Dean’s hand. Grabbing his wrist, Castiel leaned in and licked the viscous fluid away, following the path of the treat to top before sliding Dean’s middle finger into his mouth. He sucked hard on the digit, hollowing his cheeks, before looking up and into Dean’s hooded, lust-blown eyes.

“Fuck,” Dean rasped before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it behind him. He surged forward, crashing their mouths together. His hands slid up and around Castiel’s neck to card through his hair and as always, Castiel reveled at the feeling of Dean’s fingers against his scalp.

Castiel wasn’t sure if the moans rumbling through the other man’s chest were a result of the taste of cinnamon sugar in both of their mouths or the way their erections were rubbing together through too many layers of clothing. He just knew he didn’t want it to stop.

Suddenly, the fingers in his hair were gone, migrating south. They danced across his collarbone, tweaked at his sensitive nipples before sliding under the hem of his shirt and coming to rest against his stomach. His thumbs dipped into Castiel’s jeans, tracing nonsensical patterns through the soft hair there.

Castiel tore his mouth away from Dean’s and pressed their foreheads together. “What are you doing, Dean?” he whispered.

“Teasing you,” Dean whispered back, slowly popping the buttons on Castiel’s fly and spreading the fabric apart. “I enjoy you like this.” He slid one hand inside and through the opening of Castiel’s boxers, tracing the hard line of his erection with a single finger. “So hard for me. So desperate for me.”

“Not desperate,” Castiel argued, but his shaking voice betrayed him.

Dean chuckled and dragged his finger over the head of Castiel’s cock, slippery with precome. “No,” he mocked gently, “not desperate at all.”

Castiel’s rebuttal died in his throat when Dean dropped to his knees and pulled him fully out of his jeans, stroking the hard length of him, spreading the wetness now leaking steadily from the tip. “Six weeks,” he muttered, tongue darting out to lap at him.

“Wh-what?” He looked down to find Dean staring up at him.

“I haven’t tasted you in six weeks,” he explained, licking a wet stripe up the underside of Castiel’s erection, making Castiel swear and thrust forward. “I missed the taste of you in my mouth,” he said bluntly before leaning forward and swallowing him down.

“Fuck fuck  _fuck_!” Castiel gritted out and fisted his hands into Dean’s hair, not guiding or pulling, just hanging on for dear life.

Dean hummed around him, sucking hard and bobbing his head up and down; pausing at the tip to swirl his tongue around the head, dip into the slit to coax out thick drops of precome. Castiel watched himself sliding between Dean’s lips, slick and shiny with saliva; stretched tight around him. At some point, he dimly registered that Dean had opened his own pants and was roughly stroking himself while he sucked Castiel down.

He felt his cock nudge the back of Dean’s throat, felt the muscles there constricting around the head. Dean pulled back to kiss and lick his way up Castiel’s erection, moaning low in his throat when the sensations made Castiel buck up toward him.

Too soon, far too soon, he the familiar heat coiling low in his belly, spreading fast and sending shocks of pleasure to the tips of his fingers.

“You’re going to make me come,” he managed to get out.

Dean’s response was to grab his hips with both hands, press him hard against the counter and swallow him to the hilt. Castiel sucked in a shuddering breath as he came, pulling the hair in his hands as Dean’s throat worked to drink him down. He kept at it until Castiel hissed at the sensitivity and pulled away.

Dean sat back on his haunches, hard cock jutting out of his jeans, and grinned up proudly. “I fucking love how you taste,” he said, licking a stray drop of come from his bottom lip.

Still trying to catch his breath, Castiel grabbed Dean’s biceps and yanked him up, pushing him against the back of the display cases and pinning him in place.

Dean groaned and thrust forward but Castiel shifted out of the way, leaving Dean moaning and rutting helplessly into the air. Leaning in, he nuzzled the soft hair at Dean’s temple and whispered, “Who’s desperate now?”

“You fucker,” Dean said on exhale, but there was amusement in his tone. “Get on with it, then.”

Grinning, Castiel grabbed Dean’s wrists and raised them over his head, holding them singlehandedly against the glass of the case. His trailed his free hand down to where Dean was exposed and hard before gripping his cock, sliding over the head and using the slick precome there to ease his strokes.

Dean gasped and fucked into his fist, throwing his head back so Castiel could lean in easily and suck a mark onto his bared throat. “Look at you,” he murmured into Dean’s skin, “you’re so close already, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Dean swore, struggling halfheartedly against Castiel’s hold.

“You get off on it, don’t you?” Castiel breathed. He nipped at Dean’s ear while stroking his cock harder and faster, each stroke wetter than the last as he gathered up more and more of the fluid leaking from the slit. “You get off on having me in your mouth, tasting me, feeling me against your tongue, sucking me off until I come down your throat.”

“Jesus  _Christ_.”

Castiel chuckled darkly, adding a twist at the apex of each stroke and smiling at the way Dean’s moans got louder and louder. “Fairly certain he has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, aren’t we cheeky – god  _yes fuck_ _, just like that,_ _just_ _like that –_  right there!” Dean surged up and came hard, spilling over Castiel’s fist in thick, white ropes. His eyes slipped shut and he didn’t seem to notice Castiel wiping his hand against his thigh. Dean’s knees gave out and he slid down the case, landing heavily on the floor as he tried to catch his breath. “Fuck,” he rasped. “That was…  _fuck_.”

“Eloquent,” Castiel said, dropping down across from him and leaning against the cabinets. He winced when a handle dug into his back and shifted over a little. After a few moments of nothing but their shared breaths to break the silence, Castiel said suddenly, “I don’t even know your last name.”

“What?” Dean blinked at him.

“We’ve been doing this,” Castiel gestured between them, “for two years and I – I don’t even know your last name.”

Dean laughed breathlessly. “That’s a little ridiculous, Cas.”

“Sort of my point.” Castiel shot back, though he flushed – as always – at the diminutive.

Struggling to his feet, Dean tucked himself back into his come-stained jeans and grabbed his leather jacket from where it had landed next to the cash register. “Winchester,” he said, looking at the floor.

Castiel looked up at him. “What?”

“Winchester,” Dean repeated, meeting his gaze unblinkingly. “My last name.” Castiel opened his mouth to respond but stopped when Dean shook his head and crouched down in front of him. “Save it,” he said and kissed him. Soft and slow and sweet. The only kiss they’d ever shared that wasn’t leading up to sex. “Tell me next time,” he said quietly. Then he was gone.

And the bell on the door jingled merrily.

\--

 


End file.
